


buried in the church yard deep

by amosanguis



Series: Immortals AU: MLB, NFL, & Black Sails Edition [3]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Green Bay Packers, Highlander Immortals AU, Idiots in Love, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, True Love, offscreen death of child immortal, title from a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: The Immortals are outed, Clay runs, Anthony Rizzo really needs to mind his own business, and through it all - Aaron waits (kinda) patiently.





	buried in the church yard deep

**Author's Note:**

> \--Title from "Folk Bloodbath" by Josh Ritter  
> \--Author has never been through Green Bay Austin Straubel International Airport, so details are made-up based on other airports.  
> \--Complete for now. Chapters may be added in the future depending on the direction this AU goes.  
> \--There are winks and nods to other works in the series, most notably _[all of them gentlemen (they dressed in red)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474008)_ , but those aren’t necessary if you want to read this as a standalone.

-z-

 

“You were never supposed to know,” Clay says, leaning against his locker, looking down at his hands instead of the sea of faces around him. He glances up at one in particular, at Aaron. “None of you were ever supposed to know.”

 

-

 

_Breaking news tonight: Immortals are real, and they walk among us. More and more of our household names are revealed to be able to live forever – what is the Game?  And how have they managed to keep this hidden from the public for so long?_

Clay turns away from his television, runs to his bedroom and grabs his getaway duffel. Then, as he’s running out of the house, he grabs the longsword hanging above the fireplace – the one his teammates have always given him a side-eye for as he pretends it was an indulgent, compulsive buy.

For a brief moment, Clay thinks about destroying his phone. Instead, he pulls it out even as he makes his way to his truck and sends off two texts. Then he turns off the device and starts the truck and then he’s peeling out of the neighborhood.

 

-x-

 

Aaron’s body is hard, but it yields readily to Clay’s touch. They fight and fuck in equal measure and Clay is never sure he can get enough, and, for not the first time, he wishes he had the power to transfer some of his immortality to one who was so wholly human.

Aaron is a beautiful and bright and burning thing and Clay can’t help but worship him. If these were the days from when Clay was still young, he’d bring Aaron all the treasures of the world – silver and gold and jewels – and he’d lay them at all Aaron’s feet, just to hear a faint word of praise from Aaron’s lips.

But he can’t – not in the way he’s used to – instead he pushes his body into destroying the other team’s offense, guns hard for quarterbacks and felling them to the ground before they can get that ball out of their hand. And when the Packers lift the Lombardi trophy, it’s the closest Clay knows he can get to his original instinct.

It’s also the Lombardi trophy that’s tucked in beside them in that hotel bed the first time Clay lets Aaron push him down, kiss him, ride him.

And, months later, Clay presses his Super Bowl ring hard into Aaron’s side before ducking down and kissing at the imprints of the diamonds, holding Aaron’s hips down even as he bucks up hard.

 

-x-

 

“So, you’re just going to leave?” Aaron asks, his arms crossed in front of him, his voice seeming to cut through the low grumblings of those who answered Clay’s mass text.

“It’s for the best,” Clay says. “I just wanted to say goodbye to you – all of you. Before the sordid details start coming out.”

Aaron surges forward then, suddenly furious, not that Clay holds it against him. “You’re one of us, you belong—”

“ _Aaron_ ,” Clay cuts him off, grabs him by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s length. “Trust me when I tell you that you don’t know half of what’s about to come. And when you hear some of what’s in my past,” Clay can’t help himself as he moves a hand to Aaron’s cheek, not caring about the stares of their teammates, “well, I’d rather not be around when the pitchforks and torches are broken out.”

Then Clay is stepping back before he turns to the rest of the room.

“No matter what you hear over the next few months,” he says, “it’s been fun playing and getting to know all of you. I wish it could have been for a few more years.”

In the face of the silence that greets him, Clay nods his head to himself and then he’s turning and walking out of the locker room.

“ _Wait!_ ”

 

-x-

 

“Why do Mason’s parents hate you?” Aaron asks, leaning against the wall, watching as Billy and Charles Crosby, Mason’s dads, expertly navigated the Christmas party they were hosting.

It was a team-and-family-only event, one the Crosbys put on every year, and, every year, they made their rounds, talking with everyone. Everyone except Clay. It had taken three years for Aaron to notice, but now that he had it was glaringly obvious. The three of them would circle a room widely to avoid each other.

Clay smirks at Aaron and lets a lie about throwing up on Charles’s shoes that first year slip easily off his tongue. Aaron gives him a sidelong, disbelieving glance, but lets it go.

Then Aaron is pushing off the wall and making his way over to Jordy and Randall and their families, making it a point to brush against Clay’s chest as he walks by, the back of his hand grazing against Clay’s crotch.

“You’re evil,” Clay growls under his breath.

Aaron just throws a casual smirk over his shoulder.

Feeling eyes burning into his skull, Clay turns and meets Billy’s steady gaze. The older Immortal holds him there as he takes a sip of wine, before he turns away, seemingly dismissing Clay.

Clay took it as his cue to finish his drink and quietly slip away from the party.

 

-x-

 

“You can’t do this,” Aaron is screaming, the intensity of his righteous anger pinning Clay in place in that hall just outside of the locker room. “You can’t just _leave_.”

“And I can’t stay,” Clay says, his voice soft, willing Aaron to see reason. He steps in close, almost surprised that Aaron lets him, says, “Trust me. You’re not going to like what’s about to happen. And I would much rather walk away now, with you still liking me, then have to stay and watch you start hating me.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I just _like_ you,” Aaron snaps. He takes a ragged breath, hooks a finger into Clay’s beltloops and pulls him in. “Clay, I’ve been in love with you for years, okay, you _know_ this. Just don’t—”

Clay cuts him off with a hard kiss.

It’s foolish, he’s losing time and he should have been on the road to Canada (to Toronto, then to Greenland, then to Norway or Sweden or Finland – he hadn’t decided yet) two hours ago – before Lester Holt had even had time to finish his sentence.

“Stay,” Aaron says, breathing hard. “You can stay at mine, no one has to know.” He pulls back and places his hands on either side of Clay’s face. “Tell me everything before I hear it from someone else – just, please, _stay_.”

Clay’s had his heartbroken before, he’s had to drop friends and lovers to run before – it’s something that never gets easier, especially not this time when there’s so much more at stake and the whole of the world is suddenly watching.

They’ll be hunted, the Immortals. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with the Game-players – now they had to factor in humans and the media and the fear-mongers.

Clay reluctantly pulls away.

“One year,” he says. Aaron opens his mouth to argue, but Clay cuts him off. “One year. I’ll find you again in one year – you can tell me then if you still want this.”

“And if I do?” Aaron asks, his hands falling to his sides.

Clay ducks in, presses a soft-sweet kiss to Aaron’s lips, says, “Then I’ll stay.”

This time, when Clay turns and walks away, Aaron doesn’t follow.

 

-

 

Clay cuts the Packers a check to buy out the rest of his contract with a text to his financial manager, a squirrely little man with bad facial hair but a brilliant smile and quick humor named Rex. Rex’s company had a secret specialties department that managed the finances of older Immortals, even moving money around to keep up the monetary paper trails of back-up identities.

_Anything else?_ Rex texts back just as Clay is walking up the stairs of the private jet, owned by one Clayton Sjöblad, an international businessman and philanthropist whose New Year’s Resolution was to watch an NFL game in each of the NFL stadiums.

_Liquidate everything and give it to the guys’ charities_ , Clay responds.

_Consider it done. Until next time, sir._

_Until next time, Rex_.

 

-

 

By the time Clay lands in Oslo, Norway, a city he hasn’t visited since 1914, when it went by another name and he was trying to outrun whoever the headhunter was that was killing Immortals in the States (Clays’ positive that Anthony Rizzo knows who it was, but Anthony never says, and Clay resists the urge to ask).

A small part of him feels guilty for not checking in with Anthony before leaving the US, but Clay knows the old Immortal wouldn’t leave his pre-Immortal teammate, Kris Long-and-Tall-and-Blue-Eyed, because Anthony is nothing but ridiculously loyal to whichever child he comes across. And Clay has been telling him for hundreds of years now that that loyalty was going to get his head separated from his neck one day.

Clay settles himself in a small fishing village, one he’s vaguely sure he’s visited before – long before he made the journey across the Atlantic, and much longer than before his stint with the Packers. The language has changed some since he’d been here last, but he’s quick to pick it back up. He’s gets himself hired onto a fishing trawler, helping an old man, Lars, who’d just lost his sons to an accident.

Some of the locals look at him warily, cautious of strangers in light of the recent revelations about Immortals. Clay just keeps his head down, spending his days with Lars on the boat and his evenings quietly learning those wary townspeople in the best place possible: the bar.

Gradually, through buying a drink here and making a person laugh there, Clay integrates himself into the tiny town.

Working on Lars’s boat, Clay quickly sheds much of his football bulk as he uses his muscles for hauling fishnets instead of tackling and lifting weights. It’s a development he’s not as unhappy with as he’d thought he’d be.

 

-

 

Clay is just drifting off to sleep when his phone begins ringing. Clay glares at the screen but recognizes the Chicago area code and before he can second-guess himself, answers it.

“Anthony,” he greets.

“Clay,” Anthony greets him, sounding suspiciously cheerful for what Clay presumes is the late hour over on his side of the ocean. “Sorry to disturb you wherever it is you’ve disappeared to—”

“Yeah, you sound real remorseful,” Clay snipes, sitting up in his bed before his body decides to ignore Anthony and fall asleep anyway.

“Look, there’s going to be a congressional hearing,” Anthony says, continuing on as if Clay had never spoken. That was the problem with the old ones, they hardly ever listened. “I was just going to ask if you planned on making it?”

Clay snorts. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ going?”

“The world’s changing,” Anthony says, “I need to make sure it’s going to change in my favor. I’ve recruited the husbands Crosby into joining me.”

And that. That makes Clay pause.

“Why the hell would they that do that?” Clay asks. “Billy and Charles have their kids to worry about, I thought they wouldn’t care—”

“Clay,” Anthony interrupts. Again, with the not _listening_. “Please tell me you’ve been paying attention to what’s been happening over here?”

“Not so much,” Clay says, hesitant, as if the older Immortal had the power to reach through the phone and slap Clay upside the head just as he’s seen him do to his children. The breath Anthony blows out and into the phone tells Clay he wants to do exactly that.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” Anthony finally elaborates, “but it’s pretty bad. Some of the sports teams have held onto their Immortals in the name of unity, others have let them go in light of what’s been read in the Chronicles; and that’s just what’s happened to those who’ve stayed.”

“I take it I’m not the only one to have cut and run?” Clay asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning his elbows against his knees.

Anthony snorts. “Hardly. But you should know, about Aaron—” Clay tenses, readies himself for whatever it is that Anthony’s going to say “—he’s been holding up well under the scrutiny. Green Bay’s media has been kind, but some of the other places – well, not so much.”

Clay can guess which of those places it could be (not Chicago, they couldn’t when their baseball team’s darlings Anthony and Kris were Immortal, no matter what the rivalry was like between the Pack and the Bears; but Minneapolis? Minneapolis would be a good place to start).

“For what it’s worth,” Anthony’s voice brings Clay back to the present, “Aaron’s been unwavering in his support.”

Clay snorts. “He must not have heard everything, then.”

“I think you need to come back and ask him for yourself,” Anthony says.

“I think, for once, you need to mind your own business,” Clay says, his voice low but without malice as Clay’s mind drifted back to that moment just outside of the locker room, when Clay promised he’d be back in a year.

Anthony doesn’t say anything to that, but Clay can still hear him breathing on the other end of the line – so he knows their connection wasn’t dropped. Clay lets the silence stretch out between them as he stands and pads his way over the calendar he has hanging on the wall over his small, circular dining table, and flips the pages – looking at the months and calculating when would be the best time to fly back.

“Look,” he starts, finally breaking the silence. “I won’t be coming to the hearing – I have zero interest in any human telling us they have authority over us just because they’ve never had to take a life in defense of their own.”

“That’s not—”

“Save it,” Clay cuts Anthony off quickly. “I don’t care. If you _have_ to know, I’ll be flying into Green Bay sometime in September or October. Kinda depends on how badly I’ll want to face the music with Aaron.”

“I think you’re underestimating him,” Anthony says, after a beat of silence passes.

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Clay snaps. Then he closes his eyes, takes a breath, and adds, “I’ll let you know. Bye, Anthony.”

Anthony sighs, sounding resigned, as he says, “Bye, Clay.”

 

-x-

 

The full moon’s light filters in through the curtains and it’s the only light afforded them as they collapse side-by-side, chests heaving and glistening with sweat.

Clay reaches over the side of the bed and grabs a shirt, he’s not sure whose, and wipes them both off, before he settles back against the pillows – a contented sigh escaping him as his eyes slip closed, and, beside him, Aaron curls in close, tucking his head underneath Clay’s arm and intertwining their legs – the feel of his limp cock and his pubes at Clay’s hip as familiar as the scent of sex and sweat whenever they’re in one or the other’s bedroom.

Clay is just falling under when he hears Aaron say, “I love you.”

And it’s the first time Aaron’s said those words and Clay’s eyes fly open wide – staring at Aaron, who doesn’t even blink. And the wave of joy that crashes and breaks against Clay’s heart _hurts_ until he pulls Aaron tighter against himself, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he says, “I love you, too.”

 

-x-

 

Clay says his goodbyes to the small town, makes sure that Lars has a replacement to help him on that little fishing trawler before he heads back to Oslo to start the trip back to the United States.

At the airport, he sees a young woman with fiery red hair hanging loose over a Packers shirsey. And when she turns to pick up her bags, Clay sees his previous surname and his number stamped across her back and grits his teeth. He’s still staring when their eyes meet, and a flash of recognition crosses her eyes, but then she shakes her head at herself and looks away.

Clay tries not to let his sigh of relief sound too audible. Then he buries his face in his phone and tries to catch up on all that’s happened in the past year.

 

-

 

The first thing that pops up when Clay googles his name is an article with the headline: _Clay Matthews: from Viking to Child Killer to Football All-Star, and everything else you need to know about the disappeared Green Bay linebacker_.

Clay blinks at the words _child killer_ as his thumb hovers over the link, hesitating before finally clicking.

 

-

 

Clay orders a straight whiskey and asks the air stewardess to keep them coming as he valiantly resists the urge to throw his phone across the cabin of the small private charter.

 

-

 

Clay disembarks the plane, with only the slightest stumble to his step.

_What this reporter doesn’t understand is why Aaron Rodgers keeps defending this monster. Clay Matthews may have some of the best numbers in the League, but he is still the same man who has taken three –_ three _– heads of children less than twelve years old._

_The most recent of these children, a Davey Colby, felled during the late 1860s. His death was recorded by his watcher, when cowboys who were herding cattle ventured into town looking for anyone who might be missing their son. Below is an excerpt from the watcher’s journal:_

> _“After four days of fruitless searching: it’s over. I met with trail boss Gil Favor, who tells me that he and his men had Davey for some time, thinking that they were doing right by him by taking him into the next town in search for a long-lost relative. But, before they made it into town, they were set upon by a large blond man, who wore his hair long and had it tied back and rode a tall palomino horse._
> 
> _“Favor describes the man as Death. And if the one who has come for Davey is who I believe it is, Favor’s not very far off the mark.”_

_The watcher goes on to say that Matthews (note: previously known as Cl_ _æg) has never been particularly violent as an Immortal, but his time as a human is another matter entirely. He was a Berserker, a real-life Viking who burned down monasteries and sacked Paris._

_Coincidentally, someone he fought beside during the siege of Paris would also become a prominent North American athlete—_

 

He’s still shaking as the baggage attendants hand him his luggage, a plain seabag lifted from a sailor he’d spent a month with a year or so before signing with the Pack. One of them is looking at him quizzically, as if trying to place his face, so Clay glares and turns away – heading for the car rentals.

 

_—Anthony Rizzo. First baseman of the Chicago Cubs who, just last month, jumpstarted the Immortality of teammate and, if the whispers were to be believed, boyfriend, Kris Bryant, after several failed assassination attempts. Because_ that _makes a lot of sense._

_But back to Matthews._

 

He’s turning the corner and walking up to the kiosk, when he stops dead, halted by the person before him.

 

_Matthews is not wanted here._

_There are plenty of other good_ human _linebackers that can take his spot._

_Should Matthews ever return to Green Bay, I think that Rodgers should meet him at the airport and send his ass right back out of town._

 

Clay’s seabag slides off his shoulder and his mouth falls open and if there are people staring, he doesn’t notice.

 

_Update: Aaron Rodgers has responded to this article._

 

“How did you—”

Aaron grabs Clay’s bag from the floor and takes a step back, running his eyes over Clay and taking in the changes before he just smirks, says, “Got a heads-up from a friend of yours.” And Clay is still staring when Aaron drops the bag and pulls Clay into a tight hug, surprising Clay with its intensity. “I wasn't sure I was ever going to see you again,” Aaron whispers against Clay’s neck.

Slowly, hesitantly, Clay returns the hug. “I told you I would come back.” He pulls back to look at Aaron, runs his thumb over Aaron’s cheek, and all his fear and dread of this moment seeps away and he’s overcome by his love, whole and absolute, for this man. And in Aaron’s eyes, Clay sees it all echoed right back at him.

Aaron puts their foreheads together, says, “Stay.”

And Clay knows then, that no matter how this all turns out or who comes after him or who says what, Clay will do exactly as Aaron asks.

He’ll stay.

 

-

 

Clay moves in with Aaron and there’s a requisite article done by the Packer’s media. There’s the expected backlash, but it’s drowned out by the Packer faithful as Clay’s ex-teammates swarm Aaron’s house for an impromptu barbeque to welcome him home.

Randall Cobb is the first one to pull him aside. “We’re so glad you’re back, man, you don’t even know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Clay asks, smirking as he quirks an eyebrow, lifting his beer to his lips to take a pull from the bottle.

“ _Yes_ ,” Randy says, his eyebrows shooting up for emphasis. “Aaron is _mean_ when he’s not getting laid on the regular.”

Clay nearly chokes on his beer, coughing. Randy, because he has no sympathy for Clay, just watches – his eyebrows still sitting high and an expression on his face that means: _You deserve this_ _and I’m not gonna help_.

“Look, we all knew about y’all,” Randy continues once Clay’s cleared his lungs. “We didn’t care. We didn’t care then and we don’t care now. But if you decide to leave again, you’re gonna have a whole lotta angry football players after you. Understand?”

Clay nods and throws an arm around Randy’s shoulders and says, “Yeah, I understand.”

“Good,” Randy says before he leads them back to the party. He looks back over to Clay. “I’m serious: he was _mean_. You thought he practiced hard before? That was nothing. He _beat_ us, Clay. He kicked our asses up and down the field. I thought there was going to be a mutiny.”

Aaron is suddenly there and he cuts in, “I think you’re exaggerating.”

Randy barks out a laugh and shakes his head before he lets go of Clay and steps outside to grab another plate of food.

Clay and Aaron look at each other.

Clay dismisses the initial reaction to tease Aaron about missing him so much he takes it out on their teammates because he gets it. Because while Clay had desperately tried to bury his feelings and memories of this city and the team and Aaron when he was in Norway – he’d never been able to. Whenever he woke up, he’d still reach out for Aaron and, finding his bed empty, could never quite fully quash the _ache_ of being alone.

Instead, Clay leans down, presses their foreheads together. “I love you,” he says, because he’s here _now_ , he has this _now_.

“Yeah, you better,” Aaron says, smiling softly, chuckling as Clay pulls him in for a sweet-slow kiss.

 

-z-

 

End.


End file.
